the Calle San Gregorio and turned into an open doorway that led into the
patio of a great four-sided house. He climbed the stone stair and knocked
at a door, which was instantly opened.

"Come!" said the man who opened it--a white-haired priest of benevolent
face. "He is conscious. He asks for a notary. He is dying! I thought
you--"

"No," replied Mon quickly. "He would recognise me, though he has not seen
me for twenty years. You must do it. Change your clothes."

He spoke as with authority, and the priest fingered the silken cord
around his waist.

"I know nothing of the law," he said hesitatingly.

"That I have thought of. Here are two forms of will. They are written so
small as to be almost illegible. This one we must get signed if we can;
but, failing that, the other will do. You see the difference. In this one
the pin is from left to right; in that, from right to left. I will wait
here while you change your clothes. As emergencies arise we will meet
them."

He spoke the last sentence coldly, and followed with his narrow gaze the
movements of the old priest, who was laying aside his cassock.

"Let us have no panics," Evasio Mon's manner seemed to say. And his air
was that of a quiet pilot knowing his way through the narrow waters that
lay ahead.